Dirty Little Secret
by Schizophonia
Summary: DMHG "You talk the talk for so long that when you're allowed to walk the walk, you realise that you'd rather sit and watch the scenery." When the world is black, bleak and almost empty, Hermione has a secret. And so does the amazing, bouncing ferret. R
1. ONE

_Well, I've always thought about the idea of writing my own Dramione but I never thought I'd actually do it. _

_But here it is and I'm giving it to you, in hopes that you like it._

**Chapter One**

Lord Voldemort reclined on his throne in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, his lip curling in amusement at the girl in front of him. The brunette struggled against Crabbe and Nott, flanking her sides and restraining her forcefully.

"Mudblood Granger, how wonderful to see you again." he drawled, his sneer menacingly crude.

Trying to emulate his tone, Hermione enunciated clearly. "Likewise."

The slit-like eyes trained on her bemusedly. "How may I be of service?"

As always, Lord Voldemort hid behind his pretense of nobility and gentleman-like charisma.

Hermione stared confidently. "I'd like to join."

Laughter erupted like a rabbit from a fox but she had expected it.

Chuckling and silencing the other Death Eaters, Voldemort flicked a finger, as if absentmindedly, and Crabbe and Nott let go of her arms. Massaging the sore muscles in her arms from being forced into a position that was highly uncomfortable, Hermione stared at him back, unflinchingly.

"Join? Your side must be more foolish than I had ever imagined."

"They're not my side anymore," she spat bitterly.

"Do I detect a lovers spat? I daresay you were close to that Weasley."

Snickers and titters echoed throughout the hall and Hermione noticed warily that the ceiling was no longer portraying brilliant weather; rather it was grey and depressing. "There's noting going on." She didn't really feel the need to tell him that.

"Oh? Then what caused this change in heart?" His false concern was as transparent as some of the Hogwarts girl's blouses in the rain.

Hermione took her time answering and opted instead to glance around the room. Seven figures, excluding the two at her sides, stood proudly and ramrod straight, their faces hidden by the hideous masks that were the symbol of their organisation. The only faceless figure she could put a name to was the younger Malfoy, his blonde hair a dead giveaway.

"Difference of opinions."

The answer was short but it seemed to satisfy the leader. Standing from his throne in the middle of the hall, he sauntered slowly towards her. She tried her hardest not to flinch as he stopped, mere centimetres in front of her. "You know of the conditions." His voice was colder, smoother and precise.

A woman's voice then broke out. "No! My Lord, a Mudblood is unworthy of such an honour!"

Bellatrix; she should have known.

Malfoy, having not made any noise or sign of life until then, mumbled quietly. "Her knowledge and skill may be useful."

Ignoring the fact that Malfoy had indeed just paid her a compliment, she turned back to the wand twirling Dark lord before her. Not allowing her fear to show itself, she eyed his hands.

"The Mark will tie you to my cause, my beliefs and my control."

Not waiting for affirmation, he sent waves and waves of scorching pain through her body, branding her, Marking her.

* * *

"Granger, what are you doing here?" his voice was weary, tired as if he didn't particularly care for her answer. The veritaserum was taking effect as she responded.

"I told you. I've left them."

She heard one mutter angrily to another. "I wasn't aware that one of the side effects of the truth serum was attitude."

Malfoy barked a laugh directed at her. "Haven't you heard? Our little Mudblood Traitor's middle name is bloody attitude." He turned back to her. "Why?"

"I _told_ you. Difference of opinions."

A snicker followed, quietened by a glare from the head of the Malfoy family and fortune.

"What opinions?"

"His opinions on the war."

"Such as?"

"That Muggles don't deserve our help."

If Malfoy hadn't seen her lips move, he wouldn't have believed that Hermione Granger had just uttered those words, in that order. "W-what?"

With a roll of her eyes, she sighed loudly. "Oh come on, surely you've picked up a newspaper in the last few weeks. They're labelling Harry as a lunatic who ought to be shipped off to a psychiatric hospital."

Malfoy gulped nervously, his brows furrowed in intense confusion. "So you don't think they deserve your help?" With a nod from her, he continued. "So you want to join us and teach them a lesson?" he spoke slowly as if he were talking to a brick wall.

Hermione help up her forearm. "I believe I've already joined, Malfoy."

The Dark Mark was ugly and out of place on her smooth skin and he thought it such a waste to blemish the perfection. It had spread like the bubonic plague that Granger hadn't as much as flinched or shuddered when branded even when it had been known to bring full grown men to their knees. Her sheer lack of pain was revered slightly and the rumour was that she had stared Lord Voldemort straight in the eye as he marked her.

"Are you a spy for The Order of the Phoenix?"

"No." She glanced at him quickly and darted her eyes back to Goyle and Parkinson who were whispering in the corner, looking at her between intervals.

"Do you wish to betray to Dark side?"

This time she looked him straight in the eye. "No."

* * *

After several days of vigorous testing, it was made clear that Hermione Granger was not a spy, an illegal animagus, under the Imperius, taking Polyjuice Potion to alter her appearance or anything else that would prove her change of heart false.

This revelation caused uproar in the higher echelons of Death Eaters.

"She's a Mudblood! It's unacceptable!" Lestrange roared at anyone who would listen. Fortunately for Bellatrix, there were many who shared her opinion. Dolohov, who has injured Hermione all those years ago in the Department of Mysteries, nodded energetically.

"She deserves to die, along with all the other Mudblood's."

"What does our Lord think he will accomplish by acquiring her?"

"Perhaps a way into Potter's heart?"

"Or Potter's trap."

Their respective Marks burned and the subject was quickly dropped as their master summoned them.

* * *

"Wormtail, fetch the girl."

Stuttering an affirmative response, the short man left the room. A short and awkward moment of silence between Lord Voldemort and his servants passed until Wormtail returned. Hermione was allowed the luxury of being unchained and unbound and she strolled quickly into the room, behind the quivering Wormtail.

"Miss. Granger." Lord Voldemort smirked. "I'm pleased at your results from our _tests._" The way he said 'tests' made it seem like an examination in itself.

How was she supposed to respond to that? Would a 'me too' sound too pathetic and quivering? Instead she opted for a quick nod.

"I'm assuming that where you have been staying has been quite," he sneered. "Unaccommodating."

Thanks to you, she thought bitterly in her head. "Luxuries mean nothing to me."

"Very well but since you have proved yourself loyal, a change is in order. You will take up residence in Malfoy Manor."

The sun upended itself and the world fell apart.

"What?"

"Do I sense a problem?"

She knew better than to push the Lord but she couldn't help blurting, "But he hates me!"

"I assure you, Miss. Granger, that there are no ill harboured feelings towards you from anyone within this room."

It was a good thing Bellatrix wasn't there then.

With a silent wave of his hand, Malfoy stepped forward upon the command, gripped her elbow and apparated them to Malfoy Manor.

Stumbling into the grand entrance, the staircase looming over her impressively and the hall lit with a great chandelier, Malfoy half pulled, half led her up the staircase.

The second door on the right was open but he quickly pulled her further along. Reaching the fifth door, he pushed her in.

"Is this your room?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chastised herself. Of all the possible things she could have said, this was what her mind came up with?

"Yes." His answer was curt, short and extremely conversation slaughtering.

The room was large, far bigger than her own room by at least three or four times, equipped with a bathroom, a handy walk-in closet and rows and rows of books, squashed together, lining the walls.

Pushing her into a great armchair, he sighed. "Alright Granger, you are playing a damn stupid game. Potter has really gone insane hasn't he?"

And she just laughed.

* * *


	2. TWO

_Hey there! Well, this is the quickest I've ever updated anything...I am not kidding._

_Anyway, this is another one of my 'whim' stories (something I think up randomly at a random times) so I'm not quite sure if it'll get very far. But I'll definitely try not to let this become another half-assed story saved on my laptop for an indefinite amound of time._

_Please review, they make me smile (sometimes even update faster just so I can hear from you guys again)._

_-Losticated_

_Discalimer (which I forgot last time): Yes, yes, in fact I do own Harry Potter and everything asociated with the Harry Potter empire (!)  
No, I'm just being a nerd; I don't own anything besides a very nice new D&G wallet._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

He stood patiently as her shoulders quaked with laughter. After a while, his tolerance decided to make its absence known.

"Are you quite done?" His brows were furrowed with annoyance.

Peals of laughter erupted from her then, his annoyance evidently fuelling the hilarity. "Harry…insane…" she repeated over and over again.

Sighing and finding the sight before him quite peculiar, he never would have guessed that he would be housing Hermione Granger, the Walking Textbook as she joined his side.

"Granger, get a hold of yourself, woman!" he snapped, unable to take the giggles any longer.

She stopped, a large grin plastered to her face as she struggled to contain the silent laughter shaking her body. Malfoy was not amused. Instead, he produced his wand and waved it, muttering a spell. Hermione immediately stopped laughing and yelped, a large textbook having slammed itself on her feet.

"What did you do that for?" she demanded, her frown taking place on her forehead.

"While I'm sure it was entertaining to be overtaken by hysterics, the spectators of this depressing act certainly don't think so."

"Laughing is depressing?" she didn't require an answer and instead asked, "So what are we doing here?"

Remembering his task, Malfoy cleared his throat. "The Manor is to become your home and you will do as I say you do and eat what I say you eat. Now, don't lie to me; what are you doing here?"

Hermione frowned. "What are you talking about? You brought me here!"

"Not that!" he was frustrated; she could tell by the way his eyes shot Avada's at her. "What's your plan? Is this a ploy?"

Hermione sighed loudly. "I thought we'd already gone through everything there is to go through. Harry and I have had a difference of opinions and I switched alliance."

"Why?"

She crossed her arms and sighed louder. "Malfoy, mind your own business."

He pursed his lips, frowning at her.

She groaned. "He had some rather _radical _plans."

"Has it got anything to do with the mysterious muggle killings in the past few months?" he asked quietly.

Hermione stared him, wide eyed, for a moment. "How do you know about that?"

"If you know the right people, you can find out anything."

She cleared her throat. "Well, your side has been unusually quiet for the past three months."

"So?"

"Three months, Malfoy! And not a singly killing!"

"How do you know it's not just a cover up? We could be building up towards something bigger." Quickly, he added. "Which isn't the case."

"Nothing is still better than 38. 38, Malfoy! That's how many!"

"May I ask why?" his curiosity made him ask as he cocked his head to the side.

She sighed, quietly and wearily. "He believes that it's for their own good; that they should die by his hand rather than Voldemort's."

"Potter's finally gone loony then, hasn't he? It must be the influence of that Lovegood."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "He's lost hope. But I do know that I'd rather try to stop him than fight for his cause."

"But that doesn't explain why you're on our side."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to stop Harry."

"I don't believe you."

Shrugging, she informed him, "I don't care. It doesn't matter to me whether you believe me or not, just as long as Voldemort does." She smirked. "And between you and me, I think he does."

Aggravated by her scornfulness, his blue eyes dug into hers. "How dare you speak the Lord's name."

"Fear of a name only increases-"

"Fear of the thing itself," he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I heard you the first ten million times."

She made a contemptuous sound and pressed her lips together, his eyes still piercing hers.

"How do you know he trusts you?"

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows in mock uncertainty.

"Notice how he didn't once try to pick my brain?"

* * *

The days passed surprisingly quickly, Hermione still trapped in the manor. It was large, magnificent and luxurious yet the prison-like feel was hard to escape. Death Eaters watched her like a child watched cartoons, never letting her out of their site for even the smallest amount of time.

She tried to strike up conversation with Goyle but it proved mind numbingly useless.

"So, what do you do all day?"

"Watch people."

"Who?"

"All sorts."

"How's life after Hogwarts?"

"Excellent."

"Are you married?"

"Yes."

"Who to?"

"You wouldn't know her."

"I'm sure I would."

"No, you wouldn't."

"How do you know?"

"Never you mind," he mumbled and shuffled a few steps away from her prying questions and leaned back into one of the thousands of armchairs the Malfoy manor possessed.

She waited until he dozed off to creep slowly down the stair and down a hallway, lit by candles.

"Someone needs to introduce the concept of electricity to this place." She mumbled as the hallway turned sharply, leading to only one door, large and intimidating.

She raised her eyebrows and nodded in approval, fully aware that there was no-one to receive the appreciation. "Great door Malfoy but that won't keep me out."

Pushing the door open, she peered around the edge and expelled a quiet laugh of excitement.

The room was empty.

Pushing the door closed behind her, she moved towards his desk, a gigantic wooden thing, and started to rifle through the papers on the desks. Letters, notes, newspaper articles littered the desk, spilling over onto the ground with no visible system of organisation.

Giving up on finding anything interesting, she sat in his huge armchair by the fire and wondered what she was hoping to discover anyway.

Picking up a book that was opened, facing down, on the carpeted floor near her feet, she flipped it around. It was a book she had read in fourth year, something that hand't really stuck in her mind, but then, she turned to the first page and began to read words and sentences that weren't really familiar.

When the candles started to dwindle and the fire dying, she heard the door open behind her.

Snapping the book shut, drawing attention to her whereabouts, she stood up and faced a confused looking Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing in my study?" he demanded, frowning.

"I was bored," she informed him, holding up the book. "And I happen find Gellert Grindelwald absolutely fascinating-and so do you, it appears."

He harrumphed and moved towards the desk, ensuring that the mess he had created was still a mess, he sunk into the chair, rubbing his eyes.

"Long day?" she asked cheerily, almost happy at his weariness.

"Shut-up," he mumbled which earned a slight smirk from Hermione. "Go bother someone else."

"It's not my fault that you employ utter idiots to watch me." At his confused expression, she raised an eyebrow. "Gregory Goyle? He fell asleep three seconds in."

Muttering a curse under his breath, he looked up at her with drained eyes. "Can you just go away, Granger? Talking to you is draining."

It wasn't meant to sound rude yet his biting tone hinted that talking to her was comparable to a chore.

"Fine," she huffed. "I'll go talk to your mother."

"No, don't-"

But she closed the door on his prohibition and found herself standing in front of Narcissa Malfoy's room, holding up a hand to knock on the wooden entrance.

_Knock knock._

Who's there? she almost expected to hear but instead silence reigned for a full minute.

"Come in."

* * *

"_Bellatrix, you must not get angry!"_

_The woman turned her furious gaze to the other occupant of the small room._

"_Angry? That filthy Mudblood has befouled the Dark Arts. Just wait, I'll get prove her guilt, I will."_

* * *

_A/N: You know what though? I'm actually very very afraid of making these characters sound to OOC. Please inform me if I start to sound too much like...well, myself._

_And can anybody explan to me what 'canon' means? I'm sure it's something so simple that someone is reading this and thinking "God, this girl is dumb" and I'm sorry for that but I'd really like to know. Thanks._

_Lollipops and hearts._

_-Losticated._


	3. THREE

_Hello there! _

_Well, I thought I would say something real witty here but my brain cannot think of anything. It's not my fault...I've been trying to do funny things with my University Application and Timetable all day -so my brain has been rendered 'invalid'._

_Thank you to the lovely people who bothered listening to me and reviewed and also thank you to the lovely people who read the last chapter of my diminishing imagination. In fact, thank you to everyone. Man, I feel like a doorknob who's trying to get her act together to accept some award ("I'd like to thank my mother and my father for making me, my dog for being..."). Except, you know, there's no award and no fancy dress._

_Anyway, please review -nothing makes me happier. No really, nothing. Excpet maybe a -no, I'm just kidding.  
__Reviews are the heroin to my heroin addiction (not that I have a heroin addiction, oh God, I hope my mother isnt reading this-although that would be strangely awkward)._

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry Potter. In fact, I also wish I own an unlimited supply of shoes, chocolate, lollipops and eyeliner._

**Chapter Three**

"Granger." Lord Voldemort's smile was frightening, in such a way that it seemed as if he knew something that you didn't and it would cost you to find out.

"My Lord," she didn't bow and the grinding of molars could be heard from Bellatrix near the throne.

The once familiar great hall of Hogwarts now felt foreign to her and she shivered at the refurbishment. The hall stood long and empty, student-less and table-less, the only piece of furniture belonging to the only wizard Lord Voldemort truly feared; Dumbledore's seat from his office.

"You will accompany Malfoy to the Weasley's dwelling."

She inclined her head. "Of course." It was useless to argue.

The individual stepped forward and her foray of questions made a quick, whiplashing stop in her throat as Malfoy once again gently tugged her arm and apparated them to the lining of trees outside The Burrow.

Quickly joined by four others, they peered through the thick July foliage at the address Hermione used to call a second home. Malfoy nudged her painfully, reawakening her from her moment of reminiscence.

Forcefully, she told herself that the occupants of the house were no longer her friends; they had made sure of that.

"Remember, he wants Potter alive." Malfoy reminded them for the tenth time that minute. Another anxious moment of intense watching passed and Malfoy claimed the right moment.

"Alright, now." He urged, quietly. "Remember, Potter needs to be alive. Stick to the plan."

Stealthily creeping across the front marsh, Hermione gulped, the enormity of what she was about to do hitting her.

In a flourish, spells, curses and charms flew through the crisp summer air and rendered the house inescapable.

Turmoil could be heard within the house as the occupants scrambled to free themselves from the impending danger.

Danger, Hermione grinned. I'm that danger.

Her regulation black robes suddenly felt more regal than they had when she donned them earlier that night and she charged forward softly.

The front door was ten metres away, then nine and suddenly, she was bursting through it, as if she were being chased. Instead, she told herself that she was the one doing the chasing.

"Hermione?!" the yell was distinctively the cry of terror of Mrs. Weasley.

The motherly woman, who would –if she could- take anything under her home and protection had her wand pointed directly at Hermione's chest.

"Granger, dammit! Move!" a spell was thrown, the first few of countless spells and she was precariously shoved out of the way.

Making her way into the kitchen, she found Ron, wand trained at her, George at his side.

He muttered a hex incoherently and a bright blue jet of light shot at her. Dodging it, she felt pain tear through her left arm, her wand arm still fortunately unharmed. George pressed an old mug at Ron who disappeared; the last she saw of him being his deadly expression.

"George! Help Molly!"

Hermione's eyes scanned the room. Harry!

She immediately thrust out her wand, instinct kicking her familiarity out of the way, and shouted "Stupefy!"

Harry darted the spell quickly and countered it with his trademark "Expelliarmus!"

Her wand flew regretfully out her clutching hands and Harry caught it effortlessly. Ginny flew into the room and abruptly stopped, taking in the situation. A moment of indecision later, the red-head pressed a pair of garden scissors into his hand and he disappeared with an argumentative growl, Hermione's wand grasped firmly in his left hand.

Ginny glared at her, her lips forming a curse Harry couldn't utter.

Unexpectedly, the wind was knocked out of her as a boulder smashed into her side, knocking her out of the way of Ginny's famous Bat-Bogey Hex.

But the boulder is the pretentious Pansy Parkinson. "Pansy, what-"

Quickly, the dark haired girl pressed a wand into Hermione's empty hand.

"Hurry! Do something!" she urged, turning around and pulling another wand out of her cloak.

Summoning up six year's worth of Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, she shouted "Petrificus Totalus!" Ginny's furious expression froze, the only moving part her eyes, and she fell with a thud.

Noticing a familiar piece of parchment on the dining table, she grabbed it quickly and stuffed it into her pocket.

"Time to go," Malfoy was at her side again, gripping her arm. She unglued her feet from the carpet of a room she had spent so many meals, Christmases and birthdays in and turned away from the livid girl she once considered a little sister to apparate back to Malfoy Manor.

Once her feet hit the grand entrance hall of the Manor, she released a loud breath, the remnants of it echoing off the quiet walls.

She winced and Malfoy let go of her arm quickly. Pulling up the torn, wet sleeve, a deep, long, bloody gash greeted the pair. "God, Granger, can't you go anywhere without causing self-mutilation?"

Blood dripped across her Dark Mark, a blot on her skin she hadn't really given much thought to recently. She looked at it, as if seeing it for the first time and frowned. Hastily, Malfoy performed a healing spell and muttered 'Ferula', conjuring bandages to wrap around her forearm.

Nothing was said between the duo as they climbed the stairs to his room. Hermione, under the watchful surveillance of Malfoy, had been forced to sleep in Malfoy's room. He had been kind enough –or smart enough- to offer her the bed and he took up temporary residence on the couch. The sleeping arrangement was peculiar and awkward at first, Hermione unable to sleep for the first two nights, wary that Malfoy might try to smother her in her sleep. He had proved unaffected by the change and thoughts of smothering were far from his mind, judging by the rate that he was snoring.

That night, for the first time, Hermione spoke to him.

"Does it get easier?" Her voice was quiet and never in a million years had she thought she would be answer-less one day.

"What?"

"Does it-"

"I heard you the first time." He didn't answer for a long time and Hermione feared he had fallen asleep. Not wanting to push the subject (and possibly wake up a slumbering Malfoy) she stared intently at the drawn curtains of one of the large French windows, moments from earlier that night flicking through her mind.

"You know," his voice was a shock, and she thought that she had imagining it for a moment. "You talk the talk for so long that when you're finally allowed to walk the walk, you realise that you'd rather sit and watch the scenery."

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him on the couch, his weary face older than it should be, trying to invite sleep into his system.

Grumbling, she turned away from the window. "Sometime the scenery isn't particularly great either."

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy had proved to be a hard nut to crack. If all normal human beings were pistachios, Narcissa Malfoy was a walnut and even when you succeeded in opening it, you still didn't get all the pieces at the core.

Hermione had learnt through discrete observations that the woman's pride and joy was her Death Eater son, Draco Malfoy. Pictures of a younger, Hogwarts-bound Malfoy, Malfoy on his first broom, Malfoy's birthdays lined the walls and Hermione found herself trying to pinpoint the exact moment when he had simply grown up.

"Such a marvellous boy." Narcissa whispered quietly, sipping tea from a dainty little teacup.

Hermione couldn't imagine him under the label 'marvellous'.

"I'm not sure that I would use quite the same word." She mumbled, turning to gaze at a photograph in which three little boys and a little girl stood in a straight line, pushing and shoving each other for the centre.

"That's Draco, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson as children." Narcissa boasted and tilted her chin up proudly. "They were quite the troublesome four."

She didn't know why she continuously placed herself in the presence of Narcissa Malfoy, whose two favourite subjects were Draco and Draco. After being cooped up for so long, she felt she was in no position to be picky about her company. She hadn't been let out of the Manor in over a month, ever since The Burrow incident and she yearned for the feel of wind on her face; sun on her legs-anything to remind her that she wasn't a prisoner.

Suddenly, she felt her Mark burn. The pain was nothing compared to the pain to the imprinting of it but she still sucked in a deep breath through her teeth.

Without saying anything to Narcissa, she apparated to Hogwarts. Landing in the Great Hall, she stumbled slightly as her feet hit solid ground.

"Granger," Voldemort's silky smooth voice flowed and reverberated around the hall like a ribbon, twirling in and out of the Death Eaters. "It has come to my attention that you have something of use to me."

She frowned. Something of use? Her brain? He couldn't be talking about removing her brain for some twisted, perverted experiment, could he?

Instead of pulling a face, or flinching from fear, she blinked stupidly. "Something of use, my Lord? I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"Don't play dumb with me, girl. Empty your pockets."

Keeping eye contact, she quickly pulled out every object she had in her pockets. Reaching her inside cloak pocket, she realised what he was referring to.

"Wormtail, please demonstrate the use of the piece of parchment."

Every eye in the room was trained on the old bit of parchment, folded over and over so many times that the pages faced almost ripping into pieces if tugged slightly.

Comprehension hit Hermione forcefully and she mentally slapped her forehead; she had almost forgotten about the stolen map, taken from the kitchen table at The Burrow so many weeks ago.

Wormtail had reached Hermione and pulled the Marauders Map out of her hand.

Moving towards Voldemort quickly, he opened the aged map and tapped the paper.

He enunciated clearly, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Chuckles were heard throughout the hall, silenced by a hand gesture from the leader.

"Amazing, simply amazing." Voldemort mused over the map. "It has everything, secret passageways, tricky hallways, every person within the walls-everything."

Feeling a pang of remembrance, she recalled the days when the primary use for the map was to smuggle Harry out of the castle to join them in the wonder of Hogsmeade.

"You may go now."

Nodding, she apparated as quickly as she could back into the Manor, into Malfoy's bedroom. Soon, the owner of the room also appeared.

"Good job." He mumbled gruffly.

They hadn't spoken about that night but she felt slightly privileged to have even conducted a three minute conversation with the mystifying Malfoy. Seventy percent of his time was spent out of the manor, twenty percent on the couch and one hundred percent pretending Hermione didn't exist, save for the time he had questioned her and when necessary.

"Malfoy, don't I bother you anymore?"

"What do you mean?" he was moving towards a bookshelf and suddenly stopped to look at her.

"Like my blood."

He had to audacity to chuckle at her. "No, Granger, your blood doesn't bother me anymore. I've seen too much of it anyway-it all looks the same to me."

She shrugged. "Maybe you're just colour blind."

* * *

"_What a surprise, what are you doing here?"_

"_Narcissa, I need your help."_

* * *

_A/N: Like it? Tell me._

_Didn't like it? Don't tell me; I don't handle criticism well._

_Actually, you'd better tell me anyway._

_Suggestions and constructive reviews are always welcome._

_There's even a shiny little button to help you with that. Go on, press it._

_Come on, I dare you ;)_

* * *


	4. FOUR

_Hi._

_Sorry it's been a while but uni's started –among some other things._

_Now, recently, I received my first ever 'flame'. I'm a bit of a 'flame virgin' and while I know the first time hurts, I didn't know to what extent. Let's just say that it hurt and it wasn't a very nice way to express their opinion. (You can read it by clicking reviews)._

_I admit, I did get angry. _

_So angry that a very special person had to remove me from the presence of the knives we were trying to cook with. What right did she have to criticise me, therefore inadvertently making me conclude that my writing was worthless? What was she going on about? Then it hit me and the saying 'mountain of molehills' came to mind._

_I honestly think that being nice to somebody pays off but, to tell the truth, I haven't really given it a second thought since that angry day._

_I'm far too busy – as I said, uni has started and I have a mountain of things that I don't know yet but need to commit to memory soon- to worry about what one nasty 'flamer' has to say. _

_If this little "Right back atcha bitches" speech hasn't deterred you, please read and leave a review (no matter how nasty because I think I can deal with them better…Well, I hope so anyway)_

_Buckets and showers of love;  
-Losticated._

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his associates don't belong to me; I'm just borrowing them without permission for a little while._

_Hush hush, please don't tell._

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"_Did it work?"_

"_I think so; yes."_

"_Good. I'll talk to you soon."_

Days and weeks passed where life was utterly dull and suddenly, winter descended upon the Manor, covering the grounds in a fine light dusting of icing sugar-like snow.

She hadn't been summoned by Voldemort since the Marauder's Map incident and all she had to occupy her time with were some ancient runes and spells Malfoy brought home for her to decipher.

On one particularly cold day, where all the fires were lit and everybody in the household were rugged up in what appeared to be layers and layers of carpet, Malfoy had been allowed a day off.

She didn't question him about his activities when he wasn't present at his home and he didn't provide her with any clues; it was a situation they could both live with comfortably.

Hermione had grown accustomed to sharing a room with him, knowing when he returned, the exact steps he would make and how long it would take him to fall asleep. She stayed awake even when he had surrendered to sleep and only closed her eyes after Narcissa Malfoy's customary evening check on her darling son.

She didn't know if he were aware of the fact that his mother would push open the door quietly every night, when her motherly instincts informed her that he was buried in comfortable layers of slumber, and stare at him for a full minute, heave a sigh and exit just as silently. The first time it happened, Hermione had almost jumped out of bed to assault the intruder but, upon deciding that they could capture Malfoy first, remained quiet.

To her it had become a calming act, something constant she could rely on.

"Granger, are you going to stare at your toast all morning or help me with the new runes?"

She would have liked to tell him exactly where to put his toast but opted instead to glare at him, standing up anyway.

The runes were easy to decipher and she couldn't help but wonder what all the decoding was for.

Instead of asking him, she blinked twice. "It's Christmas in two days."

"What an observation." He remarked dryly, shuffling all the old scripts into a neat pile then securing them with a dark green ribbon.

"Doing anything?"

He looked at her then, a stare full of surprise, raised eyebrows and all.

"Granger, are you dense? No, I am not bloody doing anything."

* * *

On Christmas Eve, she finally found out.

After Narcissa Malfoy had paid a longer than usual visit to his door, she noticed his breathing. It was coming in less common intervals, proof that she had been an idiot for about four months.

"You're pretty good at pretending to be asleep." It was the second time she had spoken to him while enveloped in the darkness and comfort of the sleepy room.

"There's some things you do just to please others." Suspicions confirmed, Hermione thought smugly at his reply.

"You're talking to the Queen of Pleasing Others."

That earned her a small scoff. "Go to sleep, Granger."

She smiled.

* * *

"Merry Christmas." The seasons greeting was soft and Hermione wasn't sure if it were just some fragment of her imagination.

Locating the speaker in the corner, she frowned.

"What are you doing?"

Draco Malfoy was standing ramrod straight in front of a tree, still covered in a small sprinkling of snow, levitating decorations onto it. "Knitting a sweater, Granger." His tone suggested his opinion of her mental capacity.

She let herself laugh at that one.

"You know, the tree is traditionally decorated a few weeks before Christmas Day."

"Yeah?" he shrugged. "Well, I'm not big on tradition."

* * *

Christmas dinner was large, extravagant and exceeded the amount that would actually be consumed but she had come to expect it. It was the way the two remaining Malfoy's were wired. She knew that.

Throughout the whole dinner, the mood around the long table was strained and awkward. Every bite Hermione took was calculated, as if putting on a show for the entire universe and every little detail was noticed. She felt like she was performing in a test, a test she had not prepared for; a test she had never taken a single lesson on. The clatter of cutlery was loud and the only sound at the table. There was nothing Hermione felt she needed to tell Narcissa or Draco Malfoy and nothing the other two could say in front of her without insult.

Needless to say, they ate as fast as they could.

Lumbering lazily up the stairs, Malfoy bid goodnight to his mother at her door and in a particularly charitable mood, Hermione smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Malfoy."

The shock was sketched quickly onto her face, just above the eyebrows and disappeared in a second.

Bowing her head graciously, she let her son pull her door shut.

The bedroom was warm, a lively fire crackling heartily in the fireplace.

"Great dinner."

Malfoy grunted, shrugging out of his cloak. The act of undressing had turned Hermione a shade of deep magenta at first but she learnt to look at it as just another male.

_Another Harry and Ron, is what this is._

The bed was cold, the sheets crisp-just the way she liked them- and couldn't help but wonder if the house elves were celebrating Christmas in anyway. She hadn't tried to free them or sneak them clothing due to the rule of 'my house; my rules' implemented by Malfoy. She had been caught offering a small house elf by the name of Stuffy or something equally horrendous a slice of cake and found her morning shower so cold her lips stayed blue for half an hour afterwards.

Sleep wasn't easy to find but after some vigorous and concentrated searching, it resisted.

Her dream felt so real it could have been a memory.

Sitting up in the bed, a loud, cringe-worthy creak following, she felt claustrophobic and hot, although the fire had been extinguished hours ago. Early signs of the morning after Christmas peeked in through the windows and her heart beat started to calm.

The groaning of the bed had woken Malfoy.

"Granger, what's the deal?" his voice, thick with sleep, soothed her racing heart and she gulped in the air that her lungs were desperately craving.

The question was hard to form and lingered in her lungs for an extra minute.

"Malfoy, when were you going to mention to me that you work for the Order?"

The shock of the accusation reverberated around the room for countless seconds. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But his delay in telling her so was proof enough that she had guessed right.

"So that's it? Once again, we're on opposing sides."

"How did you figure that out?"

She grinned in the darkness, a small, secret sigh of self-congratulations.

"Magic."

"Funny Granger, I didn't know you were fluent in Up Yourself."

Her grin stumbled and tripped its way from her mouth.

When silence reigned for a full minute, Malfoy cleared his throat.

"Are you going to tell anyone?"

She contemplated increasing his fear but opted instead for the nicer version.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Should I? Do you want me to?"

He groaned. "This would be the perfect revenge wouldn't it? For all those years at school?"

"Believe it or not, Malfoy, I don't have a grudge against a twelve year old boy who didn't know better."

He was unsure if it was a blessing or a direct insult but wisely kept his mouth shut.

* * *

They didn't talk about it but it hung in the air whenever they were within each others unwilling company.

"Granger, pass the salt."

She didn't badger him about his manners and promptly handed him the silver salt shaker.

His mother was absent and the two occupants of the table were alone-a rather rare occurrence.

"Malfoy, pass the pepper."

The pepper shaker flew towards her. Wandless magic, she mused.

Interesting.

* * *

"_Bella, I have what you wanted."_

_Narcissa produced a small hairbrush. "What do you plan to do?"_

_Bellatrix cackled hysterically; maniacally. "Cissa, I'm going to make her wish she never thought up her little plan."_

* * *

_Ahh, I'm so sorry this is so short but I'm having terrible writers block and can't go on any further._

_But if I get one million reviews, I just might consider continuing._

_Haha, just kidding. _

_I'm going to continue this whether you like it or not._

_Love Losticated ;)_


	5. FIVE

_Come on guys! Reviews are love!_

_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed including my first ever reviewer on this site. I don't know if you still read this story but I just wanted you to know that I appreciated that review. Just like all the other reviews I received._

_I know, I know, you're thinking 'But you've only received ten* reviews!' but they still make my heart jump when I read over them. (*One was a flame…but I can't bring myself to delete it)_

_So here's a thanks to everyone: kat.1600. Weaselbee. Alosercanwin. Peachesandcream15. Dracolove. Icyclouds .Beneeta. And especially to vaJAYMIE. Thanks for that; you made my day._

_And thanks to everyone who's reading this!_

_Anyway, let's continue, shall we? _

_Where were we up to? Oh yes, this part…_

_-Love Losticated._

_Disclaimer: It's not mine, it's hers._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Five**

Sometimes it was a brush of the finger here or a nudge there but slowly, she started to recognise how Draco Malfoy showed emotion.

When it seemed as if Lord Voldemort had all but forgotten about her existence, Hermione was called.

Bellatrix glared daggers at her, the rest of the Death Eaters regarded her with mistrust and Wormtail sneered in that shivers-shooting-up-your-spine unnerving way.

"I have a request of you, Granger."

She gulped. "Ask for anything you wish."

"Tell me everything about Potter."

And she did.

When her mouth was dry and throat sore, she stopped, having shared everything about Harry that she could possibly remember. She spilled out all the stories of their midnight journeys throughout the very castle she was standing in, of all the times she had snuck into the kitchens and of their moments with Snape. The words were pouring from her and somewhere into the first ten minutes, she realised that someone had laced her drinks with a Truth Serum.

When Snape's name was mentioned, the hall started to whisper.

Another flick of his hand and they fell silent and Hermione continued with her story.

When the sky overhead started to rain and thunderstorm, the small stars peeking out, she finished.

"You may go."

Relief poured from her pores and she turned her back on the musing Dark Lord to return to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

That night, when Draco returned, she was sitting upright in bed, the candle still flickering, staring forcefully at the wall.

"Granger." He mumbled softly. When she didn't answer, and barely even acknowledged his presence, he moved towards her, poking her shoulder. "Granger."

Jolting slightly, she looked up at him.

"How do you do it?"

He was confused for a moment and frowned. "Do what?"

"Betray people."

"Who are you betraying?"

"No matter what happened, Harry's still my friend. And Ron."

He didn't say anything and instead, conjured two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"What are you doing?"

He rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you need to loosen up." He poured her a generous amount

"No, I do not." Never the less, she accepted the wine and followed him towards the couch and the warm fire.

Settling herself in an armchair that felt like a marshmallow, she sipped the wine. One sip turned into three and Malfoy poured her glass after glass. Afterwards, holding half a glass of wine, Malfoy asked her a question.

"Hermione, do you ever wonder why bad things happen to good people?"

If she was shocked, she hoped it didn't register on her face.

Laughing, she shrugged. "I don't know; I'll have to ask a good person. Point one out if you see one, will you?"

He didn't laugh and she had thought her joke was pretty funny. In fact, he ignored her altogether, even though he was addressing her.

"I suppose it's to remind us of what good things look like."

Struck by his deep, philosophical musing, she inched forward, placing her wine on the carpeted floor.

"Maybe good people aren't very good; maybe they're just good at pretending."

His gaze locked onto hers. "Do you think I'm a good person?"

The childish question hummed loudly in the air. After a long pause, where she contemplated what it would be like to be deaf, mute, blind and numb to the world, she sighed.

"Wake up, Malfoy. Good people are like Fairy God-Mothers and Guardian Angels."

He smirked, his white teeth gleaming. "You mean 'women'?"

"I meant 'imaginary' moron." She let herself smile a little.

"You don't think good people exist?" He paused, gauging her reaction. "What about Harry?"

It was strange to hear Harry's name, from Draco Malfoy's lips, void of all malice.

Before she could form an answer, he stretched his legs out, misjudged and knocked over her half empty glass of wine. The vessel tipped over and in a matter of seconds, her left pant leg and the white, fluffy carpet was drowning in red.

"Oh Merlin," he evacuated his seat to upright the glass at her feet as she squealed. "Forgive me, I'm sorry."

Catching his eyes, she moved her face towards his.

"What did you say?" she demanded, confused by her racing heart beat.

"Forgive me," he repeated, slightly unnerved by her sharp focus on him. "I'm sorry."

She edged forward, trying to find something in his eyes.

All she saw was herself, swimming in blue, her head comically large. He stayed absolutely still and his eyes widened as she gently reached a hand out and lightly traced a finger over a cheek. Across his jaw line, up his other cheek and over the blue-black bags under his eyes, she stopped and slowly cupped his face in both her hands, anchoring him.

"I forgive you." She told him earnestly, trying to prove her honesty by keeping eye contact.

And she kissed him.

* * *

They were together in his library one day when she started to ask him questions.

"Malfoy, what's it like growing up with the Dark Arts?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure you can try to imagine it."

He didn't speak for a while. "Let's just say that birthday parties were always a chore. If I didn't have the company of my friends, I don't know how I would've survived. My twentieth was the only memorable party."

Hermione tried to imagine what it would be like to despise one's own birthday. Malfoy's mention of his recent birthday prompted Hermione to think of her own. All that she could draw up was fog.

"What happened to me?"

"I don't understand the question."

She drummed her fingers over her knees quickly, over and over again. "Malfoy, I don't remember my twentieth birthday. I don't have any recollection of it. All I can remember is fog. It's all foggy. And I can't remember. What have you done to me?"

"I haven't done anything to you." He defended.

Unlike Ron, whose ears would flare when he lied, Draco Malfoy betrayed to truth.

She stood up and paced the library. Her mind was reaching for something-an unknown something. The object's importance was unidentified as well as the actual object itself.

It was so close…just a bit more…

Draco watched her nervously, his eyes darting.

She stopped and fiercely glared at him.

"You know something."

Frowning, feigning confusion, he said, "I don't know what you're referring to; I know many things."

"Why don't I remember anything?"

He blinked again and again. "I have no clue. Have you eaten anything strange?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Frustration became her best friend, holding her hand as they skipped down the road to insanity.

Some rational part of her, perhaps her feet or eyelids, told her to slow down and stop pointing the finger.

"Tell me what's going on; it's driving me mad."

For a moment it seemed as if she had finally regained something. The clouds parted to reveal her prize, the beaming, stone-splitting sun.

The alertness didn't last long as she felt herself being engulfed in waves of comforting, numbing darkness.

Draco's levitating spell reached her before she made contact with the sharp edge of a table and he silently guided her to his room.

"Sorry Granger," he told her unconscious body, no trace of apology evident on his features.

"This would be so much easier if you didn't ask so many bloody questions."

* * *

"_Are you sure this will work?"_

"_Trust me; it'll work." Bellatrix dropped a brown hair into a cauldron of bubbling green liquid._

_Narcissa gulped nervously. "I'm not sure about this; Draco wouldn't approve."_

"_Come on, Cissa, my nephew doesn't really approve of much."_

"_He'll kill me if he found out."_

"_Then he won't find out."_

_Narcissa wrung her hands nervously._

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_

_Don't forget to leave a nice little review for me to gush over…and maybe even jump up and down in my room from sheer happiness._

_You know you want to ;)_

_Love and sea shells to you all;_

_-Losticated _


	6. SIX

_

* * *

_

Well, hello there!

_Thank you to everyone who has stuck by me for thus far. Big shout out to icyclouds. From the very bottom of this Asian's heart, thank you for sticking with me, for getting excited with me and for reading something I've created. _

_Thanks to everyone who's put me on their story alert, to anyone who's favourite-d and to anyone who's reviewed. _

_I'm a lazy person and a serial procrastinator therefore I almost always get nothing done. Thankfully, this story still has a lot of inspiration left in it for me. I fervently hope this doesn't become something I half write (like many stories on this laptop) or worse, something I feel obliged to finish therefore giving it that rushed and crappy quality._

_This chapter is special for me; I have incorporated a little 'real life' experience in it. Have fun guessing which part! As it's my birthday today (the 24__th__) and according to Australian law, I am legally an adult (Hi5 to all!), I'm posting this tonight. _

_Have a lovely day (or night, depending on what time you're reading this). Actually, who am I to discriminate? Have a lovely YEAR! ;)_

_Love to everyone, even my special little flamer._

_-Losticated._

_Disclaimer: Can't you let me have it just for this one day? Fine, never mind…_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

For the most part, they pretended it never happened.

An error of judgement on her part and an error or reaction on his.

If there was any accidental human contact between the pair, they'd retract as if a nail had been driven through the offending body part.

"This is ridiculous." Hermione told him one night. Her whisper was barely loud enough but he heard. Rather, he was just about to tell her the same thing.

"You're right."

Now that was a strange phrase to hear from him.

He continued. "We were two legal adults who had a little too much wine so let's put it down as 'mistake' and get over it."

He fell back into silence.

Hermione rolled over, away from the couch and Draco Malfoy. "Yeah, mistake."

After a long pause. "How's Harry? And Ron?"

"Fine."

"They must all hate me."

He sighed. "Will you go to sleep?"

She frowned, ignoring him. "I wonder what they did for Christmas."

Malfoy growled loudly."They probably had a good night sleep the night before!"

"Do you think they-"

"Honestly! Sometimes I wish you would just-!" He yelled. Catching himself, he coughed. "I wish you would just shut up and go to sleep." He said in a normal tone.

Hermione, having caught onto his slip of the tongue, frowned in the dark.

She tried to imagine him lying there, on the couch. It wouldn't be uncomfortable. In fact, everything in the Malfoy household was comfortable. Perhaps he would be screwing his eyes shut, trying to close everything away. Yes, she was sure of it; he'd have his eyes closed and his silk pyjamas cool against him.

"It doesn't work."

"What does that mean?"

"No matter how hard you close your eyes, you can't erase it."

"Aren't you the little monthly advice column?"

She allowed him a secret grin. "Goodnight Draco."

* * *

It was funny how something so simple could have caused it all. First a slip of the tongue and then a physical slip.

She'd never missed the last step before but she did, on that unforgiving January morning, and she tumbled down the full flight of eighteen steps.

When she reached the bottom, her arm broken, a cut above her eyebrow and possible concussion, her bones were aching but she felt the strange confines lift, replaced by the undeniably sweet feeling of freedom.

It was like waking from an incredibly vivid dream.

One moment she was stupidly unaware of reality and the next, she was pelted with memories. Her twentieth birthday surfaced. Her first kiss, shared with Ron.

And Harry. Oh, Harry.

Then there was Malfoy. Every angle of him, every detail. He was possibly everywhere all at once but not really there at all.

He was suffocating her, drowning her, burying her in himself.

And she laid on the ground, unsure if she was dying or living, and let him and remembered.

Remembering everything.

* * *

His Prince Charming mode kicked in and he gathered her into his arms.

"I remember," she sobbed. "I remember…"

It was overwhelming for him, that after holding back from her for so long, the boundaries between them had finally been disintegrated.

The sheer need of feeling him overcame her and she clutched him tighter. "Draco…Draco…" his name flowed from her and the emotion was so raw that she felt like she was breaking in half.

The wanted to tell her the lie, to push her away, but if there was anything she'd ever correctly accused him of it was that he was selfish. He didn't think about what he had told himself about her safety, her protection, and instead tried to soothe her with words that weren't nearly as overpowering as his presence.

"It's okay…It's okay…" he mumbled into her hair, unsure of what he was talking about.

No matter what, he couldn't run from the truth.

She shouldn't remember.

He didn't deserve her to remember.

* * *

_On one of the warmer days of autumn, they were alone in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, reading. _

_Hermione slammed the book down. _

"_Atticus Finch doesn't exist."_

"_Pardon?" Draco placed Hogwarts: A History gently on the table._

"_Why do you think bad things happen to good people?"_

_He shrugged, unable to answer. "I've no idea."_

"_I think it's so that when something good happens, we'll know what it is."_

* * *

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was brown, her eyes the same and her lips halfway to orange from red. She stared at herself for a bit longer, every blemish and inch of skin under scrutiny.

Finding nothing, she groaned loudly.

How had she managed to stay the same when everything around her was barely recognizable?

* * *

_So, I think I'll leave it there._

_I'm sorry it's short but I think that's all this chapter needs. Well, that's all that I can give it._

_I really hope that I've got the facts alright. At least it's not too 'implausible' is it? Anyone want to guess what's happened? And the 'real life' experience is that I was just re-reading To Kill A Mockingbird last night._

_Well, the last few hours of my seventeen-ness has been spent bringing this out of my imagination and I don't regret that at all. At least not until Friday when my English, Text and Writing Essay is due._

_Hope you all had as much fun reading as I did writing._

_And I mean that._

_Thank you so much._

_-Losticated ;)_


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